


Just a Day

by DarthSuki



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Isolation, M/M, Setting Study, Strexcorp, kevin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 05:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: It's just a standard day working for StrexCorp as the assistant of the Desert Bluffs radio host.Sometimes you're able to keep a straight face through all of the thinly-veiled threats and constant overworking from the company, and other times you're left feeling hallow and wanting to die.But no matter what, you always at least have Kevin.





	Just a Day

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a request on my WTNV writing blog. If you would like to submit a request or check out my other related work, [go check it out here!](https://wtnvwritings.tumblr.com/)

The day begins, like all days, with the blaring, scorching, screaming sound of an alarm clock. It pierces your brain like a needle, shocks you awake like icy water dumped over your very mind. You barely have time to let yourself simmer in that pain, however, as your body swiftly slips out from beneath the covers–oh, those protective covers–and you find yourself lost in the habits of the early morning.

6 a.m. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, but at least the alarm stops blaring when you get out of bed–it’s programmed to do that, after all, and you know what will happen if you try to get back in it.

Though you’d love to afford the moment to well over the pain of your situation, your eyes glance briefly to the other side of the bed. It is empty. It is always empty when you wake up, the owner’s alarm slotted for two hours earlier than you to wake up.

You’re not quite sure how Kevin managed to afford you two extra hours of sleep every day, but it’s a small gift that you appreciate. It’s a small gift that gives you at least a small pause in the tidal wave of woe and depression that presses up against the back of your eyes.

But the sound of a new alarm pulls your attention away from the bed.

Ah, yes. The mandatory morning chanting and worship for a god you pretend to believe in, if only because you know what happens if you don’t.

* * *

Work is busy, always so busy. There are a lot of things that you’re responsible for doing at the radio station, though most of the things are largely at the discretion of your…boss? Boy…friend? You were never quite told what Kevin was  _officially_  to you, only that you would fill the role of his assistant, so there was a fair bit of vagueness that came with trying to figure it out. The last few months had settled into something much more intimate than mere coworkers so, at the very least, ‘boyfriend’ was a term you could use sometimes.

It was a ridiculous and painful irony, but you felt the most free during the workday. Though there were so many reminders around you that your life was little more than a corporate servant you could at least  _pretend_  that there was some normalcy in it. You had the freedom to use a computer and your phone and sometimes, when he wasn’t broadcasting, you could pretend to hold a conversation with Kevin. Sometimes he was even in a good mindset to have a conversation, one at least that wasn’t laced with hallow joy and in a room decorated with blood.

The two of you were in the editing room together. The clock loomed above you both, carefully noting every second that you weren’t actively working, the minutes being subtracted from your allotted daily ‘personal’ time. It varied depending on your position, career and stance within StrexCorp and could change from day to day, giving you extra minutes if you performed well, but taking it away if you didn’t.

Kevin must have been in a very high position because, once you started dating him, you found yourself with three times the number of minutes allotted for personal time on the clock–you had an entire  _hour_  to sit down and breath, maybe try to eat something and act if only for that precious hour that your life was normal and okay, even if it was so much the opposite.

But you at least had Kevin. He…had his own issues, his own quirks and his own…unique traits but you couldn’t help but grow fond of him. A more sane, mentally stable version of you may have questioned the type of relationship the two of you were in, an entirely safe version of you (both mentally and physically) would even have pointed out the pure insanity of it all, only thinly veiled behind the visage of being a day-to-day office worker.

You were nothing but a literal servant, a pet, a person fortunate enough to fall into a job that StrexCorp deemed suitable for you and thank every god that isn’t smiling that this job could afford you the freedom of thought and time so that you didn’t go insane with your misery.

And it gave you Kevin. You could at least be Kevin’s pet–that was something you have grown comfortable with.

You weren’t so fargone in the mantra of StrexCorp to understand that Kevin was a man hurt and manipulated and twisted to madness by the company, but he was still a man who showed you kindness, affection and, to a greater extend, protection. He took the insults of low productivity and fought thinly-veiled threats of physical violence with those of his own. You remember him coming home one evening, late into the night bloodied and half-conscious–it was a day that you had missed your productivity goal by only an hour. Just an hour.

You’re still not sure why he took the punishment for you, especially not when you hadn’t even been dating more than a few weeks at that point.

Still, at least sometimes you can pretend that you are a normal person working a normal job with a normal company. Sometimes you can pretend–you don’t know how you’d get through the weight of each day if you couldn’t, left instead to the realization that your freedom was taken from you, that you were a literal prisoner of a corporation that could do whatever they liked to you.

Oh, how you could play pretend.

The work day ended…well, whenever it ended. It was another vague idea (to stop working) that depended on your job, your status and your individual performance. Due to your connections (Kevin) you were usually able to get out of the station by 6, leaving you with a few precious, beautiful, perfect hours to spend your time doing whatever you liked.

Well, as long as you made sure to keep up your ‘daily behavior log’ that was on your StrexCorp-issued laptop.

Kevin would get home an hour later than you. It wasn’t due to any punishment or added time onto his shift, but simply because….he was just…like that. You didn’t have the energy or the curiosity or the courage to ask him about it. You’d spend that hour in any number of ways you could think–reading, singing, painting, meditating. It doesn’t matter what you do because it always ends the same:

Kevin walks into the front door. He starts to say something, perhaps a greeting, but it’s quickly cut-off by your arms thrown around his body and your face buried in his chest.

You should feel disgusted in yourself. You should feel ashamed and horrified and a great many things for being in a situation like this, acting like a  _pet_  for this man, but it’s a twisted situation of circumstance and pain and the simple, powerful longing for someone willing to look out for you–someone to care for you.

Kevin laughs that soft, veiled laugh of his.

“You only saw me an hour ago, dearest one!” he says, and you feel a hand on your head and fingers pulling, combing through your hair. “You missed me that much didn’t you?”

All you can do is nod against his chest and try to ignore the stinging metallic scent on the man’s clothes and skin.

“That’s just adorable!” The man said, voice cheerful and lilting. “It’s always so cute when you’re like this, a sweet little pet seeking out such a simple comfort you humans want so much. So cute and sweet…..and vulnerable.”

The words may have seemed an enigma–no, a veiled threat–but, to you at least, they were a comfort. You didn’t mind being small and cute and vulnerable if it meant being safe and held and loved and with the smallest strand of sanity to cling to.

“It seems like we have our allotted hours of personal time, dearest,” The man all but purred, resting his other hand on the small of your back. “What would you like to do together?”

You loved Kevin and, though he would never admit it to anyone outside the softest, most intimate moments that he knew cameras weren’t watching and microphones weren’t listening, he loved you too.

“…Can we…lay together?” You whisper softly, against the fabric of his shirt. The words were weak, broken, filled with the dread of months of exhaustion and pain and suffering. You just wanted to be held, to be warm, to be comforted and promised that everything would be okay.

Kevin was silent for a few moments, as if processing the request.

“Alright,” he finally said, voice having lost, if only for a moment, the forced brightness and joy you were so used to hearing from him. He sounded honest in that moment, exhausted and genuine and  _real_. “We can do that, dearest.-

-I’ll keep you safe.”


End file.
